Christmas Day 1958
by Weshallc
Summary: I am currently spring cleaning all my fics. Thank you for putting up with my previous errors and oversights and I hope I have made this more fun to read for you. (2nd April 2019) First published as part of the Tumblr Nonnatun Christmas Card Exchange 2017 for the incredible RipperShipper. Turnadette face Christmas with Timothy in hospital, Nonnatus relocated and still unmarried.
1. The Bedroom

Shelagh Mannion looked around the bedroom, the one that had been her home for the last two months. The old battered suitcase she had started to pack four days ago, lay open on the bed. Alongside it sat a new vanity bag filled with makeup and toiletries, that had been bought recently on impulse and were mostly still unopened.

Shelagh unpacked a petrol blue pencil skirt and a lilac jumper. She shrugged off the brown dress she had been wearing for over three days. She had bathed that morning at the flat and put on a smear of pink lipstick and a dusting of powder. These cosmetics had already been in her handbag, when she was ordered to evacuate her lodgings in the dead of the night, what seemed now a lifetime ago.

She stared at the outfit with the labels still attached. She had mainly worn dresses, after she had seen fit to discarded her 1940's suit in October. She looked down at her underwear, she would definitely need to change that. She had managed to rinse her stockings and panties out each night at the flat and discreetly dry them for the morning, out of the sight of Patrick and Timothy. She knew it was foolish, she would be washing all her clothes there soon, along with also washing and ironing her new families things.

She carefully removed the cotton tied labels from her new clothes, with a pair of nail scissors. This outfit had been bought especially for today. Shelagh fingered the new underwear in her suitcase. She had never before owned anything so delicate or pretty. She blushed pushing the offending articles back into the case and searched in vain for a more plain and practical set.

Shelagh flopped on the bed. This was not how things were meant to be. She shouldn't be here, her suitcase shouldn't be here.

She should be with Patrick having breakfast in a West End hotel. He had told her, she could order whatever she wanted to start her Christmas Morning and more significantly first morning as Mrs Turner. A Full English, kippers, poached or scrambled eggs or Scottish salmon. Instead she had eaten a strange combination of pastry and cake.

That morning, when Patrick had said he would make her breakfast in bed; she hadn't expected a plate of Christmas cake and mince pies, she had reneged on the brandy butter.

The peculiar feast had been concocted from among the many items, they had found on his - _or was it their?_ \- doorstep, when they had returned to his - _or was it their?_ \- home, from The London last night. Left by well wishers in response to the news about Timothy. Shelagh had ravenously tucked into her first Christmas breakfast away from Nonnatus House in 10 years, however unorthodox.

That was until Patrick scolded her for getting crumbs on his - _no he had referred to it as our_ \- bed. She had jumped up and started dusting off the sheets. Until she noticed him grinning at her. He was doing it again, she still hadn't got used to him teasing her.

In all the years she had worked with him, she hadn't realized quite how funny he could be, how playful. She thought she would get used to it. She knew she would develop the courage to fight back with some of the retorts that flashed into her mind, but never quite made it to her lips.

Patrick had told her the hotel room - he had booked and then Sister Julienne had cancelled - had a shower. She had never used a shower, she wasn't quite sure if she would like all that water pouring down on top of her head, but Patrick had reassured her that he would take care of her. Which only seemed to add to her concern. _Was he teasing her again?_

Instead of the West End, she was however, sat in Mrs Penny's spare room. That had been her address for the last 8 weeks. Visiting relations over the holidays, the kindly Turner family housekeeper, wasn't even there to offer her the sage advice that Shelagh had now become accustomed too. Shelagh felt completely alone. She repeatedly flicked her new Ronson lighter. She could smoke a Henley, right now.

Shelagh lifted her shoulders and took a deep breath. Admiring the shiny gold object in her hand, she had never owned a cigarette lighter until now. She read the inscription for the hundredth time that morning.

She knew this was only temporary. Maybe things hadn't gone to plan, but things could be a lot worse. Her husband - _no boyfriend_ \- as Tim would say, but only because it irritated his dad and amused his new Aunty Shelagh.

 _Fiancé_? Yes he was still that. _Lover_? Not a word she had used before.

Patrick would be there soon, to pick her up on his way to the hospital, to spend the day with Timothy. The boy was breathing independently, he was conscious and recovering. Patrick had sorted things out with the officious Sister Gibbs and Shelagh was now being given the same respect afforded to a parent. She had also reconciled with Sister Julienne and Nonnatus. She had a lot to be thankful for including Christmas Eve, but she had to get ready. Patrick would be here soon, he would expect her to be ready, she was never late.

Shelagh didn't look at herself in the full length mirror of the wardrobe door, as she carefully slipped into the new underwear. She had bought it to wear today, so she would and that was that. She did watch herself slip into the new skirt and pull on her sweater. She must have got the wrong size? They were far too clingy she decided. It had been so much easier with the habit - _one size fits all_ \- she mused. It was too late to change now, Patrick would be on his way. She would have to get used to walking in the skirt, just like she had wearing a small heel.

She brushed her hair and grabbed her pins, as she twisted it into a knot. She suddenly hesitated. Last night Patrick had made it quite clear he preferred it down. She hadn't worn her hair loose since she was a wee girl. She put the brush through her hair once more and put the pins in her handbag.


	2. The Children's Ward

Timothy to his disgust was on strict bed rest, his mobility would be assessed thoroughly on the 27th. They then would begin to understand the full consequences of the Polio virus, that had struck him down so emphatically.

Shelagh and Patrick's first Christmas Day together, took the form of an emotional rollercoaster. Tim knew he was being grumpy, he heard himself snap at his visitors and hated himself for it. He felt so guilty for ruining their wedding, but was unable to find the words to express his regret. He was weary and frustrated. So lashed out instead. For the most part his dad was very patient with him, it was only when Timothy turned his sarcasm on Aunty Shelagh, that his father finally checked him.

It wasn't all bad. Bagheera dressed up as Father Christmas, was pretty funny. The staff performed a short pantomime and there were carols and Christmas songs. The grown ups were given a glass of sherry with a mince pie. Aunty Shelagh, didn't seem to want her pastry and gave it to him.

She looked different today, he commented on it. She said it was something to do with her hair, but that wasn't it. He had seen her hair like that the other night. Maybe the new clothes? No, it couldn't be that. All her clothes had been new for the last few months. No, she just seemed different somehow. He just couldn't put his finger on it. She started fidgeting and stopped looking at him, his dad told him to be quiet and said it was time for presents.

This was so much better than last year. His dad had overdone it last Christmas, he had known why, but Patrick then had no idea what his son had really wanted. He knew had received more gifts than usual, but nothing he really cared about. He had pretended to be pleased with everything though, he knew his dad had tried.

This year was totally different. Shelagh had actually listened to his hints. He had the pinhole camera kit he wanted, the large magnifying glass, a new pocket knife and the Beano annual. His dad had got him the Dandy last year, he liked the Dandy, but it wasn't as good as the Beano.

Shelagh had helped him pick out one of those smart new Parker ballpoint pens for his father. He hadn't quite understood why she had opened an account at Burtons, a men's tailors up West, for his dad. It didn't seem like a real present, but she seemed quite pleased with herself.

Dad had let Timothy pick out a silk scarf and a brooch for her. He knew his dad had got Aunty Shelagh a cigarette lighter, that had something written on it. He guessed he must have forgotten it, as he didn't see him give it to her on the ward.

They played dominoes for a while and Aunty Shelagh tried to teach them a card game, she used to play as a child in Scotland, called Fives and Twos. That was fun, he mastered it quite quickly and won all the purple Quality Street chocolates from the adults.

The best bit was when Aunty Shelagh read to him just before they left. There was a small book shelf on the ward and they had found a copy of Treasure Island. It was a long time since anyone had read to him. He thought she did the voices really good. His dad looked as if he was enjoying it as much as him.

Dad had already arranged a locum for over Christmas because of the wedding, so he didn't rush off anywhere or keep looking at his watch. He could tell he was wondering what was wrong with the other children and kept listening in to the nurses and doctors conversations, but that was just Dad. Aunty Shelagh quietly coughed or whispered "Patrick," if his attention was somewhere else for too long.

All things considered Timothy decided it hadn't been the best Christmas ever, but it hadn't been the worst.


	3. The Flat (Christmas Eve)

"That went well," Patrick shook his head, as he pulled away from the London.

"It wasn't that bad," Shelagh protested, "he is bound to be frustrated and frightened."

"You didn't have to stay all day, you know?" Patrick continued, "you could have gone to Fred's with the Sisters."

Shelagh shot Patrick a stern glance. "I know exactly where I should be."

Patrick said no more, but Shelagh noticed a slight smile on his lips.

Back at the flat, they were met by a mountain of good will. There appeared to be twice as much as the day before. News had obviously spread of Timothy's admission. Shelagh recognized among the multitude of mince pies and Christmas Cake, lots of different parts of many different turkeys, but mostly their legs. There were sausage rolls, pork pies and scotch eggs. Numerous handmade gifts and cards. Patrick discovered a belated Engagement card, which for some reason he seemed to find highly amusing.

He looked at Shelagh and asked, "Still worried about what people think?" She didn't reply.

She changed the subject, flummoxed by what they were to do with this new found bounty. Patrick suggested taking some to the hospital the next day and some to the rescue centre that night. So the midwives could distribute among those who would be glad of a little extra.

"As long as they don't distribute it to the people who donated originally to us," Patrick laughed.

Shelagh was aghast, horrified that someone should receive back a gift they had donated with the kindest of motives, this made Patrick laugh even harder.

Their overloaded car set off for the Leopold Institute. He had been calling it _their_ car, since he had rescued her from the Essex fog. It had been, _our_ flat, _our_ home for almost as long. Earlier she had heard him talking to the On-Call House Officer about _our_ son and her stomach had turned over. This morning he had referred to it as, _our_ bed, but she didn't want to think about that now. Not when she was about to face Sister Evangelina for only the second time since she had left the order.

It wasn't just Sister Evangelina though, was it? Unlike the other night, it wouldn't just be the Sisters, it would be everyone. The first time they would have to face everyone as a couple. Suddenly her courage left her. They should now be Dr and Mrs Turner of Kenilworth Row. Patrick had been treating her like his wife and his son's mother, he seemed completely oblivious to the fact that the wedding hadn't took place. This may have been acceptable at the London and even among their Poplar neighbours, but Nonnatus was different, they would know all to well that she wasn't Mrs Turner. Yes, maybe in Dr Turner's eyes, but not in eyes of the law and definitely not in the eyes of God.

She had known who she was when she was known as Sister Bernadette. She had a clear vision of who she would be as Mrs Shelagh Turner. But, who was Shelagh Mannion? How was it she felt more comfortable being someone she had never actually been, rather than someone she had once been and who she was once more.

She told him, he should go in alone. She would help him get the bundles up the institute stairs and then come back and wait for him in the car.

Up until Timothy's emergency, every time she had caught Patrick looking at her, he seemed to be smiling. Ever since he had put his coat around her two months ago - _was it only two months ago_ \- and brought her home.

He was not smiling now, he was just looking at her intently, almost studying her. He said nothing, she felt uncomfortable. She remembered feeling like this before. On the long drive to the sanatorium. There were times when he seemed to see right into her soul. She felt then he wanted her to say something and she couldn't. Here she was struggling again. She was feeling disconnected from herself and her past. She didn't want to feel disconnected from him. She was beginning to realize when she saw herself through Patrick and Timothy's eyes, it was the only time she knew who she really was.

Her mind went back to last night;

 _Sister Gibbs had finally persuaded, no, actually ordered Patrick to go home late on Christmas Eve. Timothy was out of danger and breathing independently._

 _They both knew the evacuation was over, Shelagh had contacted Sister Julienne while Timothy was being removed from the Iron Lung. Patrick didn't offer to take her back to Mrs Penny's and she hadn't asked._

 _Patrick had held onto her hand so tightly on the way to the car, she had started to get pins and needles. They drove back to the flat in silence. Once away from the harsh hospital lights; relieved by the improvement in his son, Patrick began to feel the unexpressed anger he had been harbouring rise. He had tried so hard, since his bride-to-be had managed to track him down at the rescue centre. She had told him by telephone, that she was with Timothy at The London._

 _Finally it came to the surface, he was angry at himself mostly for being so blind. At Timothy for managing to conceal his illness until it nearly took his life. At Sister Gibbs for making Shelagh leave, or was it at Shelagh for leaving them?…for leaving him?_

 _Timothy's illness ripped open the highly polished veneer of Shelagh and Patrick's relationship. The rawness of the events of the last few days mocked this very proper, completely appropriate, love affair._

 _Patrick Turner combusted. He shouted, he ranted, he cursed. Shelagh had worked as a midwife in Poplar for a long time and was familiar with quite a few words, her fellow nuns following a different vocation would probably never hear. What surprised Shelagh was not that Patrick didn't temper his vocabulary in front of her, but he didn't apologize for it either._

 _Shelagh said and did nothing, she just let him vent. Eventually he burnt himself out. Exhausted by his 24 hour sleepless vigil at his son's bedside. He collapsed into the waiting arms of his fiancée. When the tears finally came. Shelagh held him in her arms against her breast, like she would a beloved child. Stroked his hair, his face, kissing the tears away. Whispering gently, that she loved him and that everything would be alright, that they would find a way._

 _In the early hours of Christmas morning, for the first time, they talked properly, intimately as lovers do. Before they had only chatted, made plans or sat in comfortable silences. The snow fall silently through the closed window. Wrapped in blankets nursing a glass of Glenlivet, courtesy of Chummy in appreciation for holding the Cubs Christmas party._

 _Patrick was calm now, a little embarrassed maybe? He fussed over her smoothing her hair, showering her with tiny butterfly kisses intermittently. He asked her if she wanted to share a cigarette, she did. When he asked her to light it, she became confused. He handed her a tiny box tied with a red ribbon and an oversized bow stuck on top. She had no idea where he been hiding that. She guessed he must have retrieved it when he went to pour the whisky._

 _Shelagh had never owned a lighter and although she struck a match almost everyday; whether to light the gas or light a spirit lamp. She struggled with the action resulting in two very sore and very black thumbs and a very unlit Henley. Patrick roared with laughter, which made it worth the humiliation, as Shelagh did not like to be seen as inept in even the smallest undertaking._

 _When she finally got a flame the couple both let out a cheer and Patrick told her to practice once her thumbs had healed. He did take a look at them and did give them a little more attention than she thought necessary, but she didn't complain_.


	4. The Rescue Centre

Patrick was still staring at her from the driver's seat. It was as If he knew where her mind had wandered too and was waiting for her to return home. Shelagh turned to him as she opened the passenger door of their car,

"We better hurry up, it looks like snow."

Patrick met her at the boot and quickly stole a kiss. Shelagh's head spun around in all directions. Patrick laughed,

"Are you worried Constable Noakes will arrest us for indecent behaviour?"

"If we are going to do this, I must insist on best behaviour at all times, Dr Turner." She even managed a sly wink, the one she had been practicing of late in the bathroom mirror.

Shelagh wanted Patrick to lead the way up the institute stairs, but he insisted she went up ahead of him. Blissfully unaware of her companions true motives, but not for the first time Shelagh remained unconvinced that gentlemanly conduct was always appropriate. Perspiring from a day spent in the over warm London and Patrick's love of the car heater, Shelagh had left her coat in the car.

Suddenly she felt very exposed and vulnerable. She froze on reaching the main hall door, she could hear music and feminine chatter. Patrick leaned over her to reach for the heavy hall door. Before pushing it open, he whispered in her ear,

"They love you, we all do."

The momentum of him leaning against her, propelled her gently forward through the open door. He announced their arrival with a corny, "We come bearing gifts."

Nat King Cole on Trixie's record player didn't miss a beat, but everyone else fell silent and turned their attention to the door. Patrick moved swiftly, very aware of the tension in his sweetheart. He dumped his packages on the nearest flat surface and returned to Shelagh taking her burdens from her and belatedly returning her wink.

Patrick wasn't the only one to notice the fear in Shelagh's eyes and Sister Julienne was soon across, fussing over the donations and welcoming the couple in.

Shelagh gratefully found herself in a bubble of protection from the two people who loved her the most. Her confidence returned as she started to help with the unpacking. To her surprise she felt warm hands in hers, the grip was tight and she turned to find herself face to face with Trixie. The young midwife pulled the ex-nun aside. It was only then that Shelagh realized the girl, whose firm grip she was in, had tears in her eyes.

"I have missed you, I will never forgive myself! You needed a friend and I was blind to it. You could have told me. You could have confided in me. You could have trusted me. All that time you were never really alone, you just thought you were."

Trixie gave one last squeeze of her friends hands before she let go, "Tell me, are you happy?"

Shelagh was still reeling from Trixie's unexpected welcome and just managed a smile and a nod. Trixie had lowered her voice during her conversation with her old mentor, but it was not lost on the rest of the gathering that the friends reunion had deeply affected them both. Help came from an unexpected source.

"Now enough of all that, you two! What we really want to know is, how is the boy?"

Patrick's Voice was shrill and overly bright, as he tried to reassure everyone that Timothy was doing just fine and making a splendid recovery. The wise Sister grabbed the doctor's arm, "He will be alright Dr Turner, remember what his mother said when I brought him into the world."

It was now Patrick's turn to be wrong footed. He didn't know whether it was being reminded of his promise to Marianne or the identity of his reminder. Patrick had to admit since the announcement of his and Shelagh's engagement, he hadn't actually relished working with Sister Evangelina. The nun although never discourteous or disrespectful, hadn't exactly been a ray of sunshine either.

Trixie was now regaining her composure. Feeling a little insecure at revealing her true feelings to her long lost friend, she tossed her hair in defiance. Shelagh was starting to find her feet chatting to Jenny about the Nonnatus closure. Nurse Lee was explaining that she had received forewarning about the impending demolition of the convent, prior to the recent events that had hastened it.

"Alec?" queried Shelagh.

"Oh Sweetie, you are so behind in all the gossip? Alec! I told you about him in that beastly sanatorium, Jenny's latest conquest. I suppose you had your mind on other things." Trixie was definitely feeling better and wanting to regain some sense of control.

"Yes, recovering from tuberculosis," a protective Cynthia interjected. Trixie chose to ignore her.

"You know, you are not the only one to have had your head turned in the last few months," she continued as she dared a sly glance in Dr Turner's direction.

Chummy gave Trixie a stare the Poplar cub pack were only too familiar with. She handed baby Freddie to Shelagh to try and divert the current trajectory of the conversation. Trixie opened her mouth and Cynthia in a quiet but forceful tone whispered,

"Don't you dare Trixie, don't say it."

Trixie shrugged her shoulders, "All I was going to say, was how much I like your outfit, Shelagh. That skirt is simply to die for, it fits you perfectly."

Shelagh coloured, but Cynthia let Trixie continue, her previous colleague did look attractive and she would have to get used to compliments about her appearance, she presumed.

"You are simply divine! Who knew what you were hiding under that habit all those years? Well obviously someone had an idea."

Cynthia couldn't apologize enough for her friends behaviour, blaming it on too many babychams at Alec's earlier in the day and dragged Trixie away for a strong cup of Nescafé. Shelagh handed Freddie back to his mother, her eyes searching for Patrick, it was definitely time to be going. He seemed to be mediating between Sister Evangelina, Sister Monica Joan and a newly delivered Christmas cake.

Sister Monica Joan peevishly turned her back on her sister and the cake, but not before secreting a mince pie up her habit sleeve. Shelagh smiled, she realized how much her self-imposed exile had cost her these magical moments. The senior nun noticed the lovely young woman smiling kindly at her.

"You have returned to us once more, I see." The nun moved towards Shelagh, "it is also fortuitous that you arrive in time for Evensong."

The older woman had both of Shelagh's hands held together and cocooned in her own. As if in the state of conjoined prayer. Both women for most of their working lives had suffered from dry chapped skin on their palms and fingers. Without the need for constant washing, the use of harsh disinfectants and the sparse use of hand cream; both women's hands were now soft due to the change in direction both their lives had afforded them.

Shelagh tried to catch Patrick's eye, while trying to explain to the nun that she couldn't stay.

"Why do you look to him, for permission?" Suddenly there was a tangible tension in the room. Trixie's tears and subsequent teasing were one thing, but Sister Monica Joan's comments had the ability to cut right to the heart of the matter, on occasion without censure.

"You answer to no-one. You have renounced your religious vows." Shelagh stiffened and Sister Julienne moved towards the pair. Sister Monica Joan continued, "If I am not very much mistaken, you have not yet repeated different vows to your new Lord and Master."

Mouths opened, fingers twitched, feet shuffled, no-one dare look at Dr Turner.

"You will never find yourself again as free as you are on this blessed day. You are under no obligation to anyone. Why not rejoice in that fact, my dear. Before you surrender yourself again to a destiny you will never again chart alone."

Shelagh blinked the tears back. Sister Monica Joan smiled, "Partake in the privilege of free will, while you can, my Sister."

Patrick was the first to speak, "Stay Shelagh." Sister Monica Joan shot him a look of defiance. "If that's what you want?" he swiftly added.

"Why don't you both stay?" Sister Julienne suggested.

Patrick Turner was used to being the only man in a room full of women, but at this particular moment, all he wanted was to be heading down the institute stairs. It had been Shelagh who had been reticent in coming, but he now knew it was imperative for her to stay and for him to take his leave.

Shelagh walked Patrick to their car she flung her arms around him, unconcerned that PC Noakes or anyone else might see. He promised her he would return in an hour, in a way that made an hour sound like a lifetime. On opening the car door he threw her a cheeky grin,

"Don't you be setting off on your own and make me come and find you in the snow."

"Don't keep me waiting then," she called after him and he was gone. She knew he would be back for her, but that sensation of being lost gripped her again.

Patrick had meant well, Sister Monica Joan had meant well, they had all meant well. None of them could understand the inner turmoil raging inside her at this moment.

Could she really go back in there and join the Sisters in lifting their voices to praise God. Would He understand? Would He think her a hypocrite? No, not think, He would know? She would make an excuse and take her leave.

As Shelagh aimlessly climbed the institute stairs, alone this time. Flicking the lighter she had worked all day to master. She studied the words engraved on it _Completely Certain._

Completely Certain _,_ had not so long ago been such a clear statement of romance, clarity, intent, truth and faith. Now these concepts seemed hazy, unreachable at best. She now was more familiar with desire, impulse, craving, necessity, endurance and fight. She was now completely certain only of these things.

At the top of the stairs stood a solitary figure."He loves you very much, everyone can see that," remarked the kindhearted Cynthia."And you him?"

"Yes."

"Do you mind me asking?" Cynthia paused. Shelagh let her to continue.

"How could you be so certain that this is what He means for you?"

The introverted nurse was the first person to ask Shelagh that question. Patrick had never asked her, even Sister Julienne had not asked that question. It had been the only question, Shelagh had asked herself for three long months in St. Anne's.

She knew the answer now, "His meaning is love...I am always led back to that promise."

The young midwife linked her friends arm and asked, "Shall we go in now and offer up our thanks to our Lord."

Shelagh smiled. "I think that would be most appropriate."


End file.
